Jurassengers
by Lord Kristine
Summary: It's Passengers, but Jurassic World!


Once upon a time, a wannabe author struggled to finish a terrible, terrible story about two passengers on a spaceship or something. She of course was inspired by the premise of the film Passengers, which she had only seen a trailer or two for- and even then, only a glimpse- but she decided to write a story based on a pun and a casting coincidence, stealing her friend's idea, which she later found out was part of the film's actual plot. She intended to release it on Christmas Day, when she believed Passengers was set to premier, but on December twenty-first, she realized that Passengers was already out, and she ought to have checked her theatre listings instead of constantly refreshing the page for A Monster Calls, which at the time of writing she still did not have tickets for, because her Cineplex app screwed up. She had been hoping to compete directly with Passengers, proving that her high-concept FanFiction could be better than a multimillion dollar blockbuster, but as was the case for many of her foolish pursuits, she failed miserably. Now, with at least four Christmas stories delayed due to her final examinations, and several more floating around in her mind, she found herself overworked by her own hand, and wondered what exactly she was trying to prove. She had known that it would be difficult (if not impossible) to finish her work in time, and she realized that her writing was becoming rushed and sloppier than usual. She then glimpsed the view count for another story she had written, and seeing a column of big, fat zeros on over half of the chapters, realized that no one really cared if she released chapters on time, or at all. Still, she labored to get her work done, and as she sat typing on her iPad- wiping away the occasional salty droplet that fell upon the screen- she wondered why she was so determined to complete a work no one would read. Perhaps she was sending her lonely signal out into a vast, empty expanse of nothingness, praying that there was a person- _just a single person_ \- who might feel the story as she did, and be moved by it. The tendrils of words she extended to her fellow humans might not find their host, but she had to try, nonetheless, or what was the point of living? No person can truly exist without the validation of their peers, even if this validation comes in the form of a negative comment or a simple acknowledgement of existence. Writing her story, the non-author realized that what she truly wanted was to know that she was not alone, but alas, there was no credible way to test this within the confines of her work.

FanFiction, after all, is the table-scraps of literature. Perhaps with the right mind behind it, it might be able to amount to more than words on a page, but the prejudice of its category will forever cast doubt on those who seek to validate themselves, as they cannot, in good spirit, call themselves authors while they write nothing but the fiction of fans. Perhaps FanFiction might never be seen as real literature, nor the FanFiction writer as a real author.

Then again, this particular writer had grown up thinking that she was subhuman based on her everyday qualities, so why should writing be any different?

In any case, she was keen to get this over with.

***JP***

When Claire awoke, she had a funny taste in her mouth. She hoped that no one had seen her drooling, but when her cryogenic chamber opened with an unnerving hiss, she quickly realized that this would not be an issue, as she was the only one who had woken up thus far. She stumbled out of her pod, clutching her head as she stared down the seemingly infinite rows of sleeping faces, limp and still like death masks. No one else was up and about, and this concerned her greatly. She was not the kind of person who enjoyed sticking out in a crowd, because more often than not, the people who got singled out were the people who had something wrong with them. For all she knew, there was something wrong with _her_ for waking up so early, or else the machine was malfunctioning. Either way, she was in big trouble.

Claire climbed back into her pod, attempting to close the door, but finding that it was locked in place. She grabbed the handle and pushed on the side of the chamber with her heels for leverage, but it wouldn't budge. Giving up, she sighed with exasperation and leaned back in her resting place. Worst case scenario, she could pretend to be asleep and blame the door malfunction on Maintenance.

She sat still for a good ten minutes before she realized that no one else was about to join her in her restlessness. For all she knew, this could go on for hours, so she could sit and wait this whole thing out, or do something about it. She chose the latter.

It wasn't long before she was jogging down the halls, looking for some clue as to what had caused her to regain consciousness prematurely. She found nothing and no one until she entered a large swimming pool area, where she saw a strange animal sitting alone at the pool bar. He was about the size of a cow, but instead of being spotted, his shade was a deep, rich red. She waved to the beast, who turned his head and gave a quiet moo. Claire cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, hello? Do you speak English?"

He nodded.

"I do. What's up?"

"Why am I not sleeping like all the others?"

The animal shrugged.

"No idea. Our pods must have malfunctioned."

Claire frowned.

"Wait. You're a passenger, too?"

He chuckled.

"Well, I'm certainly not an alien. What's your name?"

"How do I get back to sleep?" she snapped.

"If I knew that, I'd be sleeping, too."

Claire sighed and rubbed her temples.

"This is getting me nowhere. We need to find someone who can help."

"Who? Everyone else on this ship is asleep!"

"How do you know?"

"I've been awake for longer than you."

Claire narrowed her eyes.

"How much longer?"

"From the time when I woke up until I heard you screaming, I assume."

Claire slapped her forehead.

"Serves me right for asking a dinosaur. What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"A Stegoceratops."

She sighed.

"Fine. You're a Stegoceratops. Don't talk to me again, please."

He pouted.

"You're the one who started this conversation . . ."

"And you just broke my one rule. Why don't you keep to yourself from now on?"

He said nothing, but nodded. Claire jogged away, muttering insults under her breath. She knew the dinosaur was hurt by her remark, but it served him right for being so dense.

Claire jogged through empty halls, crossed empty rooms, and felt the emptiness of this cold, sterile world penetrating her soul. She was not agoraphobic, but something about floating through the dark abyss of space made her nervous. Her fears lacked logic, of course, since Planet Earth had done this exact same thing, but perhaps the confinement of the ship she and her fellow humans now occupied was making her aware of just how big the universe was, and how small she seemed in comparison. She and her race were not unlike the stars that speckled dark windows: they were all within sight, but in reality, they lay scattered over billions and billions of miles, too far to ever come in contact with each other.

When she was a child, Claire would often try to reach out and grab the moon, frustrated by how deceptively close it seemed. In her innocent mind, she imagined that she was no more than a few inches away from reaching it, and when she learned what a meter was, she decided that perhaps that was more accurate, and she ought to invest in a good, sturdy ladder. She was told that celestial bodies were farther than she thought, but no one ever bothered to explain _how_ far. Even if they had, she probably wouldn't have believed them. Claire was quite stubborn. For example, she remembered staring at her hand for hours on end, trying to disprove that cells could not be seen by human eyes. She believed that adults had simply lost the ability to distinguish those tiny units of life, and that she'd be her own microscope. Clearly, she had been wrong.

Claire supposed that human eyes _could_ see cells, but only when they formed a larger organism. The features of individual cells would be lost, obviously, and they would be taken for granted by humans, who focused on the bigger picture. Humanity in general was a cluster of cells, which some people insisted was wholly good or bad by nature, when in reality, each individual operated independently of the whole, while still being a part of it. And even cells were not whole. Molecules, atoms, quarks . . . was it really possible to say how small the units of existence could be? Like stars, atoms would never touch, being linked instead by fields of energy, invisible bonds that drew them to each other or else pushed them away. And if atoms never touched, perhaps humans couldn't truly touch either.

But of course, all this pondering was simply a manifestation of Claire's terror. She was alone in the ship (excluding the people who were still sleeping . . . and the dinosaur), and without anyone to interact with, she'd surely go crazy. It wasn't that she was a particularly social person (although she was), but the human brain was a fragile thing, and without another person to validate her thoughts and opinions by engaging with them in a positive or negative way, she was sure to lose her mind.

Claire was ready to burst into tears, but as she rounded the corner, she saw the dinosaur standing at the other end of the hall, and felt too awkward to ignore him.

"Hello, again," she mumbled.

When the dinosaur didn't answer, she sighed.

"Look, I don't mind you talking to me. Just don't get in my way, that's all I ask."

He nodded.

"I'll try not to."

"Fine. Don't go stalking me or anything."

"This ship is only so big. We're bound to run into each other eventually."

"I don't suppose you could find somewhere else to be."

"It's cold outside."

Claire rolled her eyes.

"There's no air, either."

"What's in space, then?"

"Nothing. That's why they call it space."

"Oh."

He folded one foot over the other shyly, tail resting between his legs. Claire could sense that he wanted to say more, or was at least keen to have someone to talk to, and he looked so pathetic that she decided she could spare some time. There was no one around to see her, anyway, so what harm could it do? She walked towards him, and he tensed up a little, becoming smaller than usual (though still quite large).

"I saw a bar by the pool. Do you want a drink?"

He gulped.

"I'm not authorized to do that."

"No one will know."

"The drinks will be missing."

"I'll say I took them."

"Are you allowed?"

"Well, someone screwed up big time, so I think I'm entitled to a glass of wine, at least. I'll sue the ass off whoever is responsible for this."

The dinosaur laughed nervously.

"Don't be too hard on them. I'm sure they were just trying to do their job."

"There's no excuse for sloppiness."

He nodded.

"I suppose you're right. What do you want to drink?"

"Whatever's the strongest. You?"

"I've never had alcohol before. It's very expensive."

She marched past him, hoping to minimize small talk by getting to the bar sooner.

"I guess dinosaurs don't make much money, huh?"

"No. I don't make _anything_ , actually."

"How do you buy things?"

"I don't. I'm not the consumer: I'm the commodity."

"So livestock?"

"Something like that. I get room and board in exchange for my services, which is kind of like farm animals, only I know what the purpose of my existence is . . . most of the time, anyway."

Claire opened a green bottle.

"That's nice."

"I mean, none of us really knows why we're here. The purpose of life is whatever we want it to be, I suppose."

"Mhm."

"What do you want your purpose to be?"

"What? . . . Oh, I don't know."

"Me neither. I was hoping I could make someone happy, but no one seems to care about what I do."

"Mhm."

Claire wandered behind the bar and poured herself another drink when she found that she didn't like the smell of the first one.

"I mean, it's not that I want recognition, but when you do so much behind-the-scenes work, you don't get to see the results. I wanna know if I've made someone smile, because . . . Well, I don't know. I guess I want to feel like people want me around. I used to think everyone had a purpose, but I have a hard time making myself useful. I'm quite stupid, so I try to be nice, at least. I'm told that people hang around you when you're kind to them. It must not apply to dinosaurs, because these guests see me as little more than a servant."

"Mhm. Can you pass me that bottle?"

He grabbed the container she was pointing to with his beak. She grimaced.

"Nevermind. I don't want mouth-germs on it."

He squeaked and replaced it.

"I'm sorry. I don't have hands."

"I suppose they don't have you doing manual labor, then."

"Not in the traditional sense . . . manual means hands, right?"

"Sometimes."

Claire sat down on a tall stool. The dinosaur remained behind the bar, unsure of whether the furniture would support his weight.

"I have trouble with long words."

"I figured."

"What about you?"

"I have a decent vocabulary."

"No, I mean, what do you do for a living?"

She took a swig of wine.

"Managerial stuff."

"Like managing things, you mean?"

"Sure."

"What do you manage?"

She sighed and spun around on her stool.

"Look, let's not pretend like you care about what I do. You're just making conversation for the sake of it."

"Not at all. I'm really interested."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, it's true. I think you're a very interesting person, Claire."

She frowned and turned to face him, suddenly invested in the conversation.

"How do you know my name?"

". . . You told me."

"When?"

"A few minutes ago."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, it happened."

She sighed and stood up to get more wine.

"Whatever. If I haven't introduced myself by now, I probably should have."

"You did."

"Fine."

"It's okay if you don't remember. Lots of people don't bother introducing themselves to me, or even talking to me to begin with."

"I can't imagine why," she muttered under her breath.

The dinosaur turned his head in shame, and she wondered if he had better hearing than humans. To diffuse the tension, she forced a smile.

"Do you have a name?"

His face lit up, and he wagged his tail.

"My name is Owen."

"Okay. I'm Claire, but you already knew that."

"I did. It's a pretty name."

"I suppose."

He sat smiling at her for an uncomfortable amount of time. She backed away slowly.

"Well, it's been fun."

"Are you leaving?"

"I really can't stay."

"Why not?"

"I have to get back to sleep."

"You can't. Your pod is open."

"I'll close it."

"You can't. It's impossible."

"Why?"

"The locking mechanism is controlled from the outside."

"Why don't _you_ lock me in, then?"

"I don't know how."

"How can you know about the doors, but- Oh, forget it. This evening has been so very nice, but I have a _life_ to get back to. Goodbye, Ivan."

". . . It's Owen . . ."

Claire rolled her eyes.

"Whatever."

She made it halfway across the room before Owen blurted out a slew of very fast, very panicked words.

"Thank you for taking the time to talk to me- it means more than I can ever say and gives me hope that maybe I can be somewhat sociable even if I'm very bad at conversation. I hope it wasn't too terrible and that I didn't ruin your life or something, but I promise to make it up to you if I can."

Claire forced a brief smile.

"No need. I'd rather be left alone."

"I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal."

"I've wasted your time and upset you. I didn't mean for this to happen. I feel awful."

"Forget it. It's not your fault."

"But I made you angry."

"I'm not angry at you. I'm just frustrated because of this whole situation. I just want to be with my friends."

"So . . . I'm not your friend?"

She stopped walking.

"We only just met each other."

"Oh."

She turned around, genuinely curious as to what was going through his head.

"Did you think we were friends?"

"No, but I thought I'd ask, just in case. I know you'd rather be with humans."

"Well, no one else is awake."

"If they were, would you have bothered speaking to me?"

Claire avoided his gaze.

"Uhhh . . . Sure."

"It's okay. You don't have to lie."

"Uh . . ."

"No one ever talks to me. I'm just background noise to them. You wouldn't have noticed me if you were with your friends, and if I had been brave enough to talk to you, you wouldn't want to engage."

Claire bit her lip.

"That's not necessarily true . . ."

"It is. I don't know why I thought you'd be any different."

She frowned.

"Excuse me?!"

He turned away from her.

"It's not an insult. You should be glad you're just like everyone else. I'd give _anything_ to be normal like you."

She rolled her eyes.

"Please, don't give me some sob story. You're not the _only_ one with problems."

"I know."

"I have plenty of shit to deal with, too."

"Can you tell me about it?"

Claire blinked.

"Why would you want to hear about my problems?"

"Like I said before, I find you interesting. Besides, it seems like you want to talk to someone about it. I'd give anything to make someone's day even a little better, and if listening gets the job done, I'm all for it."

Claire grimaced.

"You're so weird. Let's sit down, then. This is going to take a while."

She shepherded him over to the bar, where he sat on the ground as she climbed up on her stool. When seated on the gangly furniture, she was a good head above him. She lowered her voice, ready to confide in the dinosaur, forgetting for a moment that they were alone and far from judging ears.

"I'm afraid of not fitting in."

Owen gave her a long, blank stare.

"Well?" she pressed.

"Well, what?"

"What's your reaction?"

"I don't know. You haven't told me enough yet."

Claire sighed.

"Look, when a person leaves a pause in their speech, you're supposed to say something."

"I'm sorry. I'll do that, next time."

She took a deep breath.

"Okay. I've always felt like I'm kind of . . ."

"That's very interesting."

She slammed her hand on the bar.

"I wasn't finished!"

"You said to speak when you left a pause."

"Not in the middle of a sentence!"

Owen whimpered.

"I'm sorry! I don't know how to do things!"

Claire massaged the space between her eyes.

"Forget it. It's not your fault."

"Are you still gonna talk to me?"

"Sure. What I was trying to say was that I'm afraid of not fitting in. I've been trying to hide the abnormal parts of myself from my friends, because I don't think they'll like me if I don't meet their expectations."

"Why wouldn't you meet their expectations? You're- Sorry, was I supposed to talk?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You're perfectly normal. _Better_ than normal, even."

She shook her head.

"You have no way of knowing that. You just met me. If you knew what I was really like, you'd hate me."

"I don't think so."

"Well, you're wrong. I'm selfish and unkind."

"I don't think so. Besides, you could just . . . _not_ be like that."

"Maybe. But that would get me nowhere. In my business, you have to kill or be killed."

Noticing his horrified expression, she waved her hand dismissively.

"Not literally. Anyway, what bothers me is that I can either be a frigid bitch or a party animal, and neither one would make me happy. I don't want to have to choose between respect and freedom. I mean, if I can't be myself without people hating me, what does that say about who I am?"

"Well, a lot of people are cruel, and if you're different, that means you're nice. Mathematically, I mean."

"I don't think so. I would never find out, anyway, since I'm too much of a coward to try being myself. I'm not sure I'm going to like who I am."

"I think you will."

"How do you figure?"

"I just have a feeling you're a good person."

"I'm not, I promise. I'm a terrible dancer, I smell like apples, and I like disco."

He said nothing. She held out her hand.

"Well?"

"I don't see anything wrong with that, but then again, I'm a dinosaur, so I don't know what's acceptable by human standards."

She laughed and reached for the wine bottle.

"I don't think anyone does. It's just a bunch of made-up bullshit."

"So how do you know you're not normal?"

"I was just joking," she mumbled as she took a swig of wine, "But it comes from a real place. The quirks that make me . . . _me_ . . . are the things that people consider abnormal."

"Why would you want to be the same as the people who don't like you?"

"Because that's the kind of person who finds success in life. If I let myself go, I'd get fat and ugly, and I'd probably drink myself to death."

"You can die from drinking?"

"Of course."

Owen suddenly looked nervous as she poured herself another glass. He fidgeted when she lifted it to her lips, as though she were about to ingest poison. She lowered the glass briefly.

"It would take a lot more than this to kill me."

"How much?"

"I don't know. More than a bottle, I guess."

"If you try to drink more than a bottle, can I stop you?"

Claire snorted.

"What kind of a question is that?"

He looked away.

"I'm not allowed to interfere with humans, but if you put yourself in danger, I . . . I don't know what I'd do."

Claire grimaced.

"Are you not allowed to save people's lives, even if you think they're in danger?"

"I have no right."

"I don't think it's a question of rights."

"It has to be. A dinosaur has no rights, and implying he does would be breaking the rules."

"Really? They tell you that?"

"It's the truth."

"So you really wouldn't save a life, if you could?"

"I never said that."

When he didn't elaborate, she made a gesture for him to continue. He rumbled quietly.

"I would try to save someone if I thought it was possible. I know it's naïve to think that anything good can come from my existence, but I still like to dream . . ."

When he felt her eyes on him, he hid his face a little.

"I'm sorry. We should continue talking about you."

Claire frowned and turned her stool so that her whole body was pointed towards him. He became even smaller than before.

"Why can't we talk about you?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-one."

"So you're telling me that in thirty-one years of being alive, you've done nothing that's worth talking about?"

"No. I'm saying that whether I live to be thirty-one or three hundred, nothing I do will ever be worth talking about, because I am a dinosaur, and you are a human."

"What if you were talking to other dinosaurs? Would you be able to tell them about yourself, then?"

He laughed bitterly.

" _What_ other dinosaurs?"

Claire's face fell.

"Are there really no other dinosaurs on this ship?"

"There are a few, but none of them are awake, and even then, they're few and far between. It's not like we have time to talk to each other anyway. I'm kind of glad we don't, because it would be depressing to hear how little hope there is for members of our kind. At least humans have dreams and ambitions. Listening to humans, you forget what you are, and sometimes, you wonder if you might achieve such things as well."

He appeared to be in a trance after completing his thought, but when he came back to reality, he seemed horrified that he had dared speak such blasphemy. He caught a glimpse of Claire's expression, which only made things worse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For upsetting you."

She shook her head.

"I'm not upset because of you. I'm upset about how you've been treated."

He snuffed.

"Why? I'm just a dinosaur."

"But you talk like a human. You feel like a human."

"Parrots talk. Whales feel. Doesn't mean they're the dominant species."

Claire shrugged.

"Well, if I only knew you by voice, I'd swear you were human."

Owen laughed bitterly.

"That may very well be, but in reality, I have three horns and a spiked tail, which is far from humanity."

"You clearly haven't met my mother-in-law."

Claire laughed at her own joke, but stopped when she realized the implications.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to say there's anything wrong with-"

"Horns and a tail? There is. Nobody likes dinosaurs. It's not unusual. I'm used to this kind of thing, and besides, you've been more patient with me than anyone else I've ever met, so I should be thanking you for that. I think I've reached a point where I stop letting the insults get me down and focus on the positives. Negativity is the norm, so there's no use acknowledging it."

Claire inhaled through her nose, preparing herself for what she was about to say.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you. Not inherently, at least. It sounds like your life hasn't been easy. If I was in your place, I'd be socially awkward, too."

"You think I'm socially awkward?"

"Only a little."

"Well, it's been a while since I socialized, I guess."

Claire smiled.

"Well, as long as we're here, we may as well practice."

"Really?"

"Sure. There's no harm in talking."

Owen gave a lopsided grin.

"I just hope we can come up with enough to talk about for two hundred and eighty years."

Claire became very still. Owen fidgeted uncomfortably as she turned to face him very slowly. She did not blink.

"What."

He shrugged a little.

"Well, you woke up after twenty years, so that leaves two hundred and eighty, if I'm adding it up right . . ."

Claire began to hyperventilate.

"No, no, no, no, no! This can't be happening!"

He batted his eyes and kneaded the floor with his front feet anxiously.

"I'm sorry. That's just the way it happened."

Claire stood up and began to pace back and forth, making indistinct sounds of worry. After a while, Owen joined her, following her path like a duckling. He nearly walked into her when she wheeled around.

"How do you know it's only been twenty years?"

Owen's eyes darted back and forth like he was watching a sped-up tennis match.

"I . . . I, um . . . checked the security footage."

Claire's face brightened.

"Security footage?"

". . . Yes? . . ."

She grabbed him by the horns.

"Show me."

Owen's eyes drifted to the side.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Claire's knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip.

"Why not."

He squeaked.

"It's kind of confidential . . ."

She threw his head to the ground and stepped on his snout.

"Don't tell me it's confidential. If a dinosaur can see it, a human can see it. You're going to take me to wherever it was you saw this footage, and we're going to get to the bottom of this. If we find out why we woke up early, we might have a chance to set things right."

"But-"

She pressed down on his face.

"No excuses. Show me. That's an order."

He closed his eyes and nodded. She released him, then extended her arm.

"Lead the way."

He lumbered towards a small hallway, circling the perimeter of the pool. Halfway, he peeked over his shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want to have another drink, at least?"

Claire rubbed her chin and made an exaggerated ponderous face.

"Hm, well, maybe just a half a drink more- WHAT DO YOU THINK?!"

He shrunk, then grunted as she kicked his heels.

"Faster."

"What's your hurry?"

"I WANT TO GO BACK TO SLEEP!"

Owen broke into a canter, and they made their way down the narrow passage. The bright, pale corridor seemed to stretch for miles. The length gave them time to set a steady pace, though their footsteps did not match in rhythm. At a random point, prompted by nothing whatsoever, Owen spoke without breaking his stride.

"I didn't think it was so bad."

Then, a little further down.

"No worse than sleeping, anyway."

He did not speak again until they were through the door, which he unlocked using a keypad. Claire wondered why he knew the access code, but when the doors hissed open, she forgot all about it and pushed past him aggressively. On the other side of the entrance was a vast control room. In front of the display screen, billions of lights twinkled on a semicircular panel, which Claire began to tap without missing a beat. Owen stayed in the shadows, head held low.

Claire called up data from the cameras in the cryobay, rewinding until she saw movement. Surprisingly, the activity was not her own. Although the footage was somewhat blurry, there was no mistaking the shape that crossed rows and rows of sleeping humans until it reached one pod in particular. After completing a detailed action that the camera was unable to accurately capture, he darted out of sight, and a few moments later, the door opened, and the Claire of three hours ago stumbled out of her peaceful stasis, hands icy and eyes unfocused.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at the monitor with horror. Then, she turned around, and seeing the blank expression on the dinosaur's face, realized that this lack of empathy meant that she was in very real danger. Out of the corner of her eye, she calculated the distance between the exit and where she stood, and wondered just how fast the dinosaur could run.

"It's not what you think," he said quietly as she shuddered, leaning back against the control panel with stiff arms.

"You woke me up."

"Yes."

Claire's lip quivered.

"You . . . You woke me up."

"I know what it looks like, but it's far more complicated than that."

Claire sniffed, shaking a little more aggressively.

"You pulled me out of cryosleep just so you could have a hostage?"

"No. It's not like that."

"You wanted to live out some sort of spaceship Stockholm Syndrome porno fantasy, is that it?"

"No. It's nothing like that."

"I'll die before I let you touch me."

"That's not what I want."

As he began to stand up on all four feet, Claire scampered back over the control panel. The screen behind her showed an error message.

"Stay back!"

He paused, then sat down again.

"I don't want you to be afraid."

"It's too late. I know what you are."

"Claire-"

"Don't you _dare_ say my name! You're unfit to know me!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry. You're not _anything_. Sociopaths don't feel."

"I'm not a sociopath."

"Then how do you explain this?"

He exhaled.

"Listen, I need you to hear me out. I know it looks bad, but I promise, I have a good reason for doing this."

Claire shook her head slowly.

"You're selfish. You have no empathy for others, and especially not for those who have more of a life than you. You're a monster."

Claire made a dash for the door, and Owen did not pursue her. He did not move at all, in fact, as Claire sprinted down the corridor and out of sight. And he did not move for a good long time after she was gone, either. Of course, she had no way of knowing this, as she was on the other side of the ship by the time he finally stood up and limped away from the monitor, which had begun to show a loop of him running from Claire's unlocked chamber.

It would be an hour before they saw each other again.

Claire, realizing that the dinosaur had not actively pursued her, stopped running and instead roamed the halls in a paranoid fashion, afraid of a sneak-attack. The assault never occurred, and after wandering aimlessly to the pool room for the fifth or sixth time that day, Claire realized why. Owen was lying beside the bar, sprawled out on his side, surrounded by vomit and empty bottles. When she was sure that the dinosaur was too tipsy to stand, she dared to approach him. He lifted his head a little as she drew near. The way he moved, he seemed to be made of lead.

"You lied."

She blinked several times.

"Excuse me?"

"You said all it took was more than a bottle."

Claire sneered.

"First of all, I was talking about myself. You're much larger than me. Second, how selfish do you have to be to kill yourself before putting me back?"

"So you want me to put you back, _then_ kill myself?"

"I want you to put me back," she snuffed, "Whatever you do after that is none of my concern."

Owen let his head drop, and the vomit beneath his chin made a gentle splat.

"I don't want to put you back, but once I'm dead, the next dinosaur will be happy to do it, I'm sure."

"The next dinosaur?" Claire echoed.

"When the implant in my brain senses that I've died, the next dinosaur will be randomly selected. He'll take over my duties, and when he dies, the next dinosaur will be woken up, and so on."

"There are other dinosaurs?"

"There are ten. I met them before boarding, but none of us will ever see each other again. Some of them might make it to the new world, if the first few live long enough, but not me. I was selected first, being the lucky dinosaur I am."

"And how long do you usually live?" Claire asked.

Owen lifted his head and recited what sounded like a painstakingly-memorized figure.

"The average lifespan of a Stegoceratops is forty years. They may live to one hundred with a companion, but if they are given sufficient care, it is possible for them to live to sixty alone."

"So why do they need ten of you?"

"In case one of us dies suddenly or commits suicide, which I'm told happens a lot."

"So we've been in here for twenty years, and you were the first to wake up? You said you were thirty-one!"

He puffed air through his nostrils gently, like a horse.

"What's your question?"

Claire's face softened.

"Oh."

"Those numbers are exact, by the way. We launched on my birthday, and I woke up again a few hours after they put me to sleep. Now, it's twenty years to the day."

Claire's eye twitched.

"Happy . . . Birthday?"

"It hasn't been. If you want me to die sooner, push me into the pool. I can't swim, and I think the red stuff made me incapacitated."

"Wine will do that to you."

"Hm."

Claire looked around awkwardly.

"It doesn't look like you're able to hurt me in this state."

"I wouldn't hurt you, even if I was sober."

"Forgive me for having trust issues, but you haven't exactly been a model citizen. I was willing to forgive your awkwardness until I learned about your elaborate space-rape scheme."

He lifted his head and frowned.

"Now, hang on. That's not even close to the truth. It's lies and slander!"

Claire snuffed.

"Ha! 'Lies and slander'. Listen to yourself! Do you really think you can defend what you did to me?"

"No. But it wasn't about sex."

"Was sex involved?"

Owen laughed.

"Claire, look at this face. Why would I ever believe that sex was an option?"

"Under threat, maybe."

"I said I wouldn't hurt you."

"So you don't think waking me up early and attempting to seduce me would be considered 'hurting'?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Bullshit."

"Well, you don't have to believe me, but after twenty years of isolation, a person tends to go crazy. That also applies to dinosaurs."

Claire lifted her chin.

"Well, maybe you should have jumped in that pool instead of ruining my life in some crazy attempt to make yourself feel better about being a total loser."

She stormed away before he could answer. It was a cathartic experience, lashing out at him like that, and he certainly deserved it. What right did he have to rob her of hours she could be spending with real people? Every moment that passed would bring her closer to death, and she didn't want to waste them on some dinosaur. And would she necessarily have made good use of the time he had taken from her? No, but that was to be expected. She was perfectly fine with wasting her life, but only by her own hand. Having someone steal her time to improve their own menial existence was a violation of trust. It was no better than being robbed by a common criminal who was too selfish to allow the amorality of their acts to outweigh their desire for personal gain. This dinosaur was a thief, and quite possibly a pervert. There was no reason to feel bad for him. Plenty of people went through painful experiences, but only black-hearted narcissists would drag others down with them.

Claire felt these hateful emotions powering her joints as she walked through the ship at an accelerated pace, and she was somewhat relieved that she was able to shun the dinosaur for reasons other than his social ineptitude. Perhaps she had sensed that he was a creep from the start, and that was why she disliked him when they first met. Obviously, that was it. She clearly wasn't a bad person for hating him, even when she didn't know about his plan.

Somehow, during her stroll, Claire found the Safes. Twenty years ago, she had locked her most treasured possessions in a box, which now lay wedged in one of many towers, all tall enough to touch the ceiling. She had packed away her regular luggage in another bin, which was less secure, but still somewhat protected from damage and deterioration. These boxes, however, were guaranteed to preserve all objects inside, or at least that's what she had been told. Who knew with these corporations?

In any case, she was not interested in her own bin, at the moment, for she had spotted a small column in the center of the room. She circled it with curiosity, noting that the boxes were red instead of grey like the others. Counting them, she realized why.

There were ten.

She looked for Owen's safe, but his name was nowhere to be found. At first, she thought that it might be another conspiracy, but then she read the labels more carefully. Most were a series of numbers, or else Greek letters, but one was a simple two-digit code.

01

After sounding it out a couple times, Claire was sure that it belonged to him. She knelt down and examined the keypad, then remembering how dense the dinosaur was, punched four ones into the machine. It opened.

Claire rummaged through the contents, wondering if there was anything she could use against him, emotionally or physically. She did not find anything heavy or sharp. It was mostly papers, with a few flat objects wedged between documents. She leafed through them with curiosity.

Strangely, the first photos she came across were not of Owen, but of random people. She examined a happy-looking family with a puzzled frown. There was a watermark over their faces, so Claire guessed that they were originally from stock photos.

Next, she found a flyer for a comedy show. Beneath the "You're invited!" message (which was printed in a terrible font), were grainy pictures of performers. It certainly didn't _look_ like a good show, and she wondered why Owen would bother to keep this memory.

The next item was more personal. It was a blue ribbon, but upon further examination, Claire realized that it was simply a participation award.

Next was a typed letter. It began "Dear valued customer," and was not of any interest.

And then another personal document. Owen had apparently completed some form of education, for he had kept a seventh grade chemistry test. In the corner was a bright red C plus, with "Better" written next to it.

After that, Claire found something really interesting. There was a newspaper clipping with Owen's picture. He was less than a year old in the photo, and was being held by a man in a labcoat. The headline read "Experiment 01 a success! InGen breaks new ground!"

Claire skimmed the article, but a small paper slipped from her hands, fluttering to the floor. She picked it up, putting everything else to the side. It was a note written in crayon by a child with very poor motor coordination. The content of the letter, however, was not what she had been expecting.

 _Deer Owen,_

 _Im sory i furgot yor birthdy agen. I promiss ill be ther next yeer. I luv yu and im prowd of yu._

 _Luv Dad_

Claire turned the page over. The other side was decorated with a drawing of a young Owen and a man in a white jacket. When she lowered the paper, she caught a glimpse of more crayon-covered letters resting in his bin. They were the same thematically, but the handwriting (assuming it was even made with hands) grew tidier with each iteration, though it was still quite terrible. Not all of the pages were in order, but there was definitely a point when the drawings stopped, and the crayon was replaced with pencil. These letters were longer. Claire decided to scan a couple.

 _Dear Owen, I'm sorry I missed your fourteenth birthday . . ._

 _Dear Owen, Wow! You've entered the double digits! You're growing up so fast . . ._

 _Dear Owen, Happy sixteenth birthday! I know some people like to make a big deal about it, and I feel awful for being absent once again . . ._

 _Dear Owen, It's the big two-oh! . . ._

 _Dear Owen, Congratulations on being of age! I'm sure you'll have a wonderful party with lots of friends . . ._

 _Dear Owen, It's hard to believe that it's been thirty years since you hatched. That's really something special. I know I say this every year, but I will find a way to come see you. It's been hard ever since you went up in that spaceship, but I care about you, and I'm coming for you. I promise, next year, you'll be with your family. Don't lose hope._

And then, Claire saw another letter crumpled up in the corner of his box. She straightened it out and held it in both hands.

 _Dear Owen, How stupid do you have to be to think that I'd actually come back for you after thirty-one years? If I cared about you even a little, I'd reply to all those letters you've been sending. Obviously, you can't take a hint. I don't WANT you anymore. I NEVER did. No one does, in fact. You're a disgusting half-breed with no place in this world. Not a single person in this lab wants to have anything to do with you. We are NOT your family. We're not even your friends. The truth is that no one will ever love you, or even like you, because you're a dinosaur, and you are a MONSTER. The world would be better off without you in it. If you think that anybody cares about the things you do to make them happy, you're WRONG. Humans don't notice folded towels or mints on their pillows. The only reason you think they would is because it's what YOU want. How pathetic do you have to be to think of these silly little things as some great honor? I'm not surprised you feel this way. You're a big, stupid animal, and it really would be a miracle if someone did you a favor, even a little one. I hope you have a terrible thirty-first birthday. As usual, you will be spending it ALONE, because everyone at the lab will be with their real families. When we think of how many years you spent waiting for someone to come find you, we have a good laugh. Personally, I wouldn't be desperate enough to spend time with you even if we were the last two people on Earth, or in space, or wherever you are right now. I think I speak for everyone- and humanity in general- when I say that you will NEVER amount to anything, and it would be better if you just killed yourself and stopped pretending to be something you're not. I HATE you. Everyone hates you. And I know you hate yourself, because you can't even make a single person h_

The letter ended there, with a smudge that most likely came from a broken lead.

Claire held the damaged paper, wondering what it was she was feeling. She knew that the conflicting emotions running through her head could not be called "good", but she wasn't sure if she was sad or angry, or both. She was at least a little angry, she decided, but she didn't know to whom her anger was directed. In any case, she had locked away Owen's possessions- almost subconsciously- and a few minutes later, she returned to the pool area, where she found him dangling over the deep end. He seemed to be debating whether or not to lean forward and end it all, or to sit around and wait for a miracle. When Claire came into view, his eyes flicked up briefly, then gravitated towards his reflection.

"I'm ready to put you back, now. We don't have to talk about it. I won't bother you or anyone else on the ship once you're asleep."

Claire circled the pool slowly.

"And after I'm asleep?"

"I'll be gone."

"Dead, you mean?"

"Yes."

"You're going to drown yourself?"

"I was thinking about ejecting myself into space."

"You'll freeze out there."

"That's the idea."

"Well, we can't have you catching pneumonia."

"I'll probably be dead long before I do."

"All the more reason to keep you inside."

Owen stared ahead blankly.

"I don't understand."

Claire sat down beside him, taking off her shoes and dipping her feet in the pool.

"I don't want you to die, Owen."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not a bad person."

He sighed and turned away from her.

"I've heard of this. When humans feel like there's no way out, they start to bond to the people they hate."

"I don't hate you."

"If you don't hate me, you're either crazy or lying."

". . . Or I just don't hate you."

"Well, I can't be sure of that, can I? I'd like to believe you don't hate me, but I'd just be feeding into my foolish delusions."

Claire watched the water ripple. Beneath the surface, she could see lights flickering. They painted the waves with gilded stripes.

"Owen, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry."

"I'm not saying I'm sorry on my own behalf . . . though I am, a little. I'm sorry in general. I'm sorry you had to be put through this, and I'm sorry you haven't seen the goodness in humanity. I'm sorry you've been led to believe that no one can ever genuinely like you, and I'm sorry that nothing I say will convince you otherwise. I'm sorry on behalf of the entire human race, and if the people who shunned you had a heart, they'd be sorry, too. I know that an apology doesn't make everything right, but you needed to hear one. I hope mine will be enough. You should have heard it sooner."

He looked up at her, expression shifting a little, though she couldn't read it. When she touched his front foot, he stared at her hand in panic.

"I really mean it, Owen. Believe me."

"I do."

He seemed surprised by his own words, but in a good way. Claire smiled, and he did too.

"I'm sorry for waking you up. There are sedatives in the infirmary. If you take one and get in your pod, I can turn it on again."

Claire shook her head.

"I don't think I will. I'm not sure what time it is, but it seems to me that the day isn't over yet, and we haven't had a proper party."

"Party?"

"Birthday party."

He did not respond.

"For you," Claire affirmed, "It's your birthday, is it not?"

"Yes. But it's the first time someone's offered to throw me a party."

"Then we'd better make it worth the thirty ones you missed."

And it was. They began by raiding the food supplies, making a cake out of what they could find, and although it tasted quite terrible (Claire forgot the eggs and undercooked it), Owen wolfed down the entire thing (minus Claire's piece, which ended up being hidden in a potted plant). After that, they discovered how to set up the sound system of the entire ship, and blasted disco for two hours. Owen said that he wasn't sure why people thought Claire was odd for liking it, and she laughed.

Later, they returned to the pool, where Claire showed Owen the basics of aquatic motion. He was so excited by the prospect of learning something new that he barely noticed that Claire was completely nude.

When they were done, they sat by the edge of the pool, breathing slowly as they took in the quiet of outer space. For once, the silence did not seem empty. It was so full, in fact, that Owen's voice did not disturb the aura of the setting.

"Claire?"

"Yes?"

"Your eyes are like stars right now."

She smiled and twirled a wet strand of hair around her finger.

"Thank you. Did you really mean what you said earlier?"

"What do you mean?"

"About me being the prettiest. You said you chose me because I looked nice in my file."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"Why?"

"I know how shallow it sounds. They don't exactly keep records of passengers' personalities, though. If they did, I'm sure I still would have picked you."

"Really?"

"Without a doubt."

Claire leaned her head on his shoulder, dipping her left toe in the water.

"How long did it take you to choose?"

"I started looking through the files three years ago. I revised the top ten candidates thrice, but none came close to you. I didn't want to be so certain- and I wasn't sure I should choose anyone at all- but as soon as I saw you, I knew you were special."

Claire's face fell. Owen batted his eyes with confusion.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not exactly. It's just, in my experience, 'special' is another word for 'different', which is another word for 'bad'."

"I don't mean it like that."

"I know. But I've heard so many cracks about my hair and freckles that it's hard to understand why you think I'm beautiful."

"Because you _are_ . . . In my opinion, at least."

She nodded.

"I guess that's what it all boils down to. Plenty of people like blondes, but if everyone was blonde, the people who like redheads would be left with nothing. Logically, we should be ourselves and wait to come across people who like us. But there's no guarantee they'll show up, and as we grow old, we start to worry that they were never there to begin with, and we change in order to seek out the love we're missing. When we do that, the love we find isn't the same kind we wanted."

Owen pressed his beak against her cheek.

"I guess so. I still have a hard time understanding why you don't think you're pretty."

"Maybe it's just one of the ridiculous things humans do," Claire giggled.

"Yeah."

And after that, they talked. They talked about their lives, the lives of the people they knew, and what they hoped the future would hold. Claire was surprised by her own answer, since she had been working in her job for so many years, and thought her world revolved around it, but talking to someone like Owen, who had no expectations or grounds for judgment, she confessed that she had always dreamed of dancing, though she never truly realized how important this was to her. Owen, too, had a few talents he never fulfilled, such as singing and cooking, two things which when combined together might make an excellent game show. They laughed about this idea, but their conversation soon became serious, and Claire opened up about her father, whom she had not seen for several years, even before boarding the ship.

"It's not that I really loved him," she confessed, "But he did understand me, and I think I drove him away because we were so similar. I enjoyed spending time with him, but what I really wanted was to be able to say that I had a father like all the other girls. Now, I don't think I'll have anyone to walk me down the aisle."

"Are you getting married?" Owen asked.

"Someday. I _was_ engaged, but all of a sudden, I launched myself into space . . . without telling him."

"Ouch."

"I know. I feel like a bitch. But I had a mental breakdown, you know? I guess everything sort of piled up at once, and I realized that I wasn't happy with the life I was living. I'm shocked that I had the balls to go through with this colonization, but I'm starting to realize that maybe this wasn't some out-of-nowhere decision. As soon as I had someone to talk to, I came to terms with how unhappy I was."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head solemnly.

"No, it's a good thing. It's comforting to know that someone genuinely cares about my problems, and isn't just agreeing with me to be polite. I've had people gossip behind my back, telling others how pathetic I am after I've bared my heart to them. I'm not even sure if I have any _real_ friends . . . except for you."

Owen thought he was done being surprised, but once again, she proved him wrong.

And so it was for the rest of the day. Owen continued to be surprised, and Claire opened up about problems she didn't know she had, and by midnight, Owen felt as though he had lived his entire life by her side, seeing what she saw and feeling what she felt. He relived her memories, and in doing so, understood her more than anyone ever had.

This went on for a very long time.

They were so busy sharing their experiences that they didn't notice it had been three days since they first met, and they had not slept since that time. Even so, they were not tired in the slightest. They might have gone on believing that it was still the same day, if Owen had not entered the control room to find more disco music. When he saw the timestamp on the monitor, his heart sank. He lumbered back to where Claire was waiting, tail dragging.

"It's been three days."

Claire was surprised, but waved her hand dismissively.

"That's fine. I have nowhere to be."

"You should be in cryosleep."

Claire folded her hands on her lap, kicking her feet delicately.

"Actually . . . I was thinking I might not go back."

Owen took a deep breath.

"Claire-"

"No, I've really thought about it, and I don't want to go back. I'm happy here, with you."

Owen sighed.

"I was afraid of that."

"Why? Wasn't it what you wanted?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't know. More than anything, I wanted to make you happy."

"Me?"

"Yes. And I know you'd be happier if you lived your life in the new world."

"I'm not so sure about that . . ."

" _I_ am. If I keep you here with me, you're as good as dead, and no matter which one of us goes first, we'd still be alone at some point."

"But that won't be for a long time, and we'll have each other until then."

Owen smiled sadly.

"You know, I think the memory of this extended birthday would last me forever. I'd be happy until the day I die, knowing that we shared this moment. It's like starlight: the source is long gone, but you see it millions of years later, just as though the stars are still alive. They seem so close, yet they're farther than you or I will ever travel. But their light reaches us, and that's what's really important."

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck.

"But we don't _need_ starlight, Owen. We're here together, right now. I love you."

She hadn't meant to say that last part out loud, but she wasn't too upset about it. It felt good to be honest about her emotions, for once. She knew that Owen felt the same way about her, but even so, she could hear his heart beating faster as she leaned against his chest, and wondered why he was so nervous.

"Claire, I . . . We . . ."

He let out a pained breath.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Well, sure, but aren't you going to answer me?"

He trotted over to the bar.

"You never asked a question, except for that one just now."

"You know what I mean."

He poured her a glass of wine.

"I love you too, if that's what you want to know."

She smiled and hopped up on her barstool.

"That's good to hear."

"The next part won't be. We can't be together."

Claire ran her fingers though her hair.

"Owen, that won't be a problem. When two people love each other, they will find a way to make it work."

"I'm not talking about _that_. What I mean is that I can't rob you of your chance to experience the new world."

"I don't _need_ the new world. You're enough."

"Thank you, but I know that's not true. You may think where you're going isn't where you want to be, but I guarantee that there are others like me, and you won't be alone if you can find them."

"But I've already found you!" she laughed.

"I'd say it was the other way around. Anyway, let's save this conversation for another day."

He pushed the wine glass towards her delicately, and she took a sip.

"Owen, you're being ridiculous. I want to stay here with you."

"It can only last so long."

"But that will be long enough for both of us. With my help, you'll live to be a hundred. We'll have forever and ever."

Her eyes began to flutter.

"I feel kind of funny."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Claire, but you don't have to pity me."

"I'm not. I genuinely love you."

"I believe that."

Claire swooned a little.

"Owen, I'm getting dizzy . . ."

"I'll never forget these three days. They've been the best ones of my life . . . so far."

Claire collapsed over the ledge, dropping her glass.

"Something's seriously wrong with me! What's in this drink?!"

Owen circled the bar, holding her as she slipped from her stool.

"Don't believe what those people say, Claire. You're my favorite person in the world. In the universe, even."

"Owen . . ."

She leaned forward in desperation, poised for a kiss, but was unable to make it all the way. Owen supported her head as it lolled to the side, understanding perfectly well what she had been trying to do.

"It's okay, Claire. I'm going to have a happy life now. I just wanted to know that it was possible for someone to love me."

"Owen . . ."

She broke into a slurred mumble, and he rested his chin on her head, holding her tightly in both arms.

"You'll find someone better than me in the new world. Even if you don't, you'll be happy, because you have so much to live for."

"Owen . . ."

"Don't feel bad for me. Don't ever be sad that things turned out this way. This is more than I ever could have asked for. For once, I'm happy, and I'll stay that way forever and ever."

She whispered his name once more before going limp. Owen held her until he was sure that she was asleep, then draped her gently over his back and carried her to her resting place.

***JP***

When Claire awoke, she had a funny taste in her mouth. The wine had mingled with whatever they were pumping into her chamber instead of air, and it was sickeningly sweet. The door to her pod opened with a deep hiss, which was joined by thousands more in an unsettling chorus. She stumbled out of her chamber, hands burning, and saw others doing the same. She paid them no mind, instead staggering down the catwalk to find Owen, although she knew it would be a wasted effort. On her way out of the cryobay, she saw ten red pods, two of which were already open.

In the pool area, where Owen had been many years ago (though it felt like much less to Claire), was another dinosaur, who looked somewhat like Owen, but colored differently, and skinnier. Claire jogged up to him with a frantic expression, hair frizzy and makeup dripping.

"Do you know Owen?"

His eyes went wide. Clearly, he had never been spoken to by a human.

"Owen?" he echoed, "I don't know who that is. Which pod was he in?"

"None of them. He was a Stegoceratops."

"A red one?"

"Yes."

"I cleaned his body out three years ago."

Although Claire had been expecting this, her heart dropped. Her sorrow was quickly replaced with confusion, however.

"Wait. _Three_ years ago?"

"Yes. That's how long I've been awake."

Claire nodded.

"Alright. Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome . . ."

She sprinted to the Safes, passing her own receptacle in order to see if anything was left of the dinosaur she loved. He had changed his code, it seemed, but she had no trouble guessing that it was now four twos. To her dismay, there was nothing inside his box.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Claire stood up and decided to clear out her own box, just for convenience. She punched in her code, and it unlocked with a sharp click. The documents she found inside were underwhelming. The awards of excellence, magazine articles about her achievements, and other insignificant tidbits were meaningless to her now, and she wondered why they had ever mattered to her in the first place. Like Owen, she had kept nothing but papers, and like Owen, she was faced with the terrible truth that they contained nothing of value.

Except one.

Hidden away beneath her awards was a new sheet of paper. The handwriting on it (assuming it had even been made with hands) was sloppy, but clearly practiced. It was a brief note, but it spoke volumes.

 _Thank you._

Claire wondered if Owen had managed to hack into her vault, but she didn't doubt that he knew her well enough to guess her password.

***JP***

Just as Owen promised, Claire entered the new world with confidence and comfort, though it wasn't what she had been expecting. She lost her job, for one thing, as it had become obsolete. In the time it took the sleepers to travel to the new world, the remaining population on Earth had been hard at work developing teleportation devices, and in doing so managed to beam themselves to the new planet and colonize it. Their technology was a good hundred years ahead of anything Claire was familiar with. Even so, she did not mourn the loss of her career, as she now intended to work with people- _real_ people- and get involved in her community and others.

This included the dinosaur community, of course.

Claire never married, but she did adopt two children, who had children of their own, and so on. She lived to see them all, and surprised her family by outliving her original descendants, or adopted descendants, as it were, though they were so much like their mother that no one could tell the difference.

When she did die, at the age of three hundred, no less, she passed away quietly by the sea, under a starry sky. Staring up at those tiny pinpoints of light, she wondered which stars were dead, but realized that the answer was none of them. As long as they were still shining, they were alive in her eyes, and it was enough to keep her going even when those massive balls of gas were supposedly long gone. Herself, she was not so much dying as letting go of this life, and she was confident that she would awake in an even better one, where a red dinosaur was patiently waiting for her arrival.

Claire would always love Owen, and she knew that in his happy, long life, he had loved her as well. Although they had only been together for a short time, they would stay by each other's side for all eternity, as most of us will in life.

No matter the distance between us, we are never truly apart, because in the end, we are nothing more or less than humble passengers.

***JP***

And so, the girl who was still not confident she was an author finished the first draft of her story, after which her mother took her to see Office Christmas Party, which she was not keen to do. To make matters worse, her mother used up the all the Scene points on her card, which the girl had been saving for Passengers and A Monster Calls, and possibly Beauty and the Beast. After the movie, however, her mother bought her a Cineplex gift package quite unexpectedly, which was more than enough to make up for the loss.

So perhaps the girl would never truly be understood, but her family could always _pretend_ to understand, and that was enough. Even though she didn't have a father or a proper job or really anything going for her, she was happy. She would continue to write stories until the day she died, whenever that might be. And maybe she would write long after her death, depending on how things went.

She'd just have to wait and see.


End file.
